


The The Bullshit of Whiplash.

by ArtificialZeeZee



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 11:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtificialZeeZee/pseuds/ArtificialZeeZee
Summary: Shane receives a drunken phone call from Roy and hears more than he ever expected. There’s no way he can pretend with his “friend” that he didn’t hear a private conversation, and so, with anxiety but a strange sense of hope, he confronts him. What comes is explosive and more than either of them anticipated. Sometimes people are complicated.





	The The Bullshit of Whiplash.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a really old request - “A Bitney fiction/one shot where they drive for hours and it’s a warm night and they fall asleep on the ground watching the stars while talking about their life. (Even more bonus points if it’s after an argument that they fix)”   
> //  
> I wrote this months back and it was one of my favourite one shots I ever wrote so I'm reuploading it here! Even though it's an old fic, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Oh, and if you have read the original, well...there is a different ending here. Just saying...

 

Shane had had a particularly stressful few days, but not begrudgingly. He’d been travelling all over L.A. doing gigs, filming videos, and recording new music. He couldn’t recall when the last time he’s sat down to relax was. Had it really been  _weeks_  since he’s kicked back with a glass of wine and one of his trash television shows? Was it before or after the phone conversation with his mother about the vegan recipe he emailed her? It must have been around the time he first started booking studio time after writing lyrics to a new song…

Whenever it was, it was overdue!

There wasn’t anything in the world that meant more to Shane than his work, and he would never trade his job for all the leisure and money in the world. However, to actually lay back on his couch, swirling a glass of wine in one hand and the other holding the back of his head…it was heavenly.

Shane never imagined he’d ever be this happy when he was a kid picturing his adult life - of course he never exactly envisioned himself dressed as a woman, performing in sweaty bars with drinks being spilled down his sequin dresses. He knew the limelight was his calling, the stage was his fate, but under a stage name wearing lace fronts was a delightful surprise. He use to worry nothing would ever come of his life, and those years stuck in limbo, hopping between retail jobs, was horrifying for someone as ambitious as he was.

All the worry was in the past now. Shane was wonderfully content. Lavish living, grand friendships, regular work and not a grey cloud had been seen in weeks, what more could he ask for?

He decided to spend his Friday night in the blissful company of a sweet vanilla candle, the soft tones of John Mayer’s acoustic set, and his tattered copy of  _The Great Gatsby_. He hadn’t read the novel since he was 17 years old and studying it in school, and there was a constant yapping stuck at the back of his head to get around to rereading it. Why not finally give in after so long now he has the free time- there wasn’t anything else he wished to do right now.

At first it’s a little odd to be alone and free of actives. His glass of wine is sour in the right way, making his mind swim after a few sips, and that takes the edge of the abnormality of being able to do whatever he wants. Soon he’s wrapped up in the elegant language of his book, and the stress bruised under his skin begins to soothe and return to his normal beige.

About an hour later his phone starts to ring. Without any rush, he picks up the mobile and looks at the caller ID. It’s a picture of Roy from the last Christmas party, wearing a crudely knitted Rudolph jumper, eyes half open as he pretended to make out with a broom. Shane hadn’t seen Roy in months, and he truly misses his company. Some of his best memories came from the nights out he had with Roy - one of his all time favourites was when he, Roy and Danny were all together in Boston and got completely wasted in an alley bar. Afterwards they stumbled to the closest public park and lay on the grass with greasy slices of pizza in tissue, and they stayed there for hours talking about nothing in particular. Danny threw his crusts in the air and Roy cursed him out when it landed on his head. Shane gave the bench near by a lapdance while Roy and Danny sang ‘Baby Got Back’ out of tune. All of them were brought back to their younger days when getting drunk was the most exciting part of their plans.

“ _You know, I don’t say this often, but I love you. My little angel.”_  Roy teasingly drawled out, pinching Shane’s cheek. Danny had fallen asleep while wrapped up in Roy’s jumper, cheese and sauce smeared around his mouth as he snored. Shane and Roy sat watching the stars, knees touching and boundaries thrown out the window. They were usually mocking with their affection toward one another, but when Roy got drunk he was suddenly overwhelmed with love and admiration, and it was sweet to receive.

“ _You’re really laying it on thick tonight, pussyface.”_

_“I’ll show you thick.”_  Roy tried to say seductively, but burst out cackling, falling on his back holding his stomach as the laughter racked through him. Shane shook his head, watching his friend find himself so amusing.

“ _Come on, we better wake sleeping beauty and get ourselves back to the hotel_.” He pushed himself up and reached his arm out for Roy. The older man took it with a grateful smile, but to his surprise tugged Shane down to land on top of him. He began cackling again, holding Shane close, and then Shane found the amusement of the situation and laughed along with him. He may have stayed on top of Roy for longer than either expected, but his warmth was endearing and comfortable; he wanted to stay in that moment forever.

“ _You know, I’ve never really noticed but…you have really nice eyes.”_  Roy complemented, stroking Shane’s back.

“ _Oh. Wow, thanks_.”

“ _You’re welcome_.  

Shane smiles to himself as he recalls the memory, seeing Roy’s picture on his phone is like a blessing in disguise. He misses him terribly, truthfully, and with a playful smirk, Shane answers the phone.

“Hello?”

“Haaa _aaaaaay_ , cumbiscuit! My favourite asshole in the whole world!”

The sounds over the phone pound with bass, making Shane wince at first, accompanied by galvanised screams and familiar taunting voices around Roy’s. Shane could tell instantly by the way his friend’s tone droned out, flatter in pitch and more nasally than usual, that he was drunk. Approximately 3 fireballs and two double vodkas in drunk.

Shane laughs. “You having a good time, pussyface?”

“You bet your sweet ass! Your horny self would be creaming all over the place if you were here! There was just a guy on stage with sleeve tattoos and calve muscles bigger than your head. Very your type.” The sound of his eyebrows bouncing could practically be heard in the teasing allure of his tone.

Shane frowns, confused. “Where exactly are you?”

“We’re in Montreal, in a-”

“In a strip club,  _bitch_! The guys here are so hot! Twink heaven for sure, even the overgrown ones like yourself.”

Shane hears clashing as Roy snatches his phone back from Detox, shouting at him in a quick rage before composing himself as he returns to the phone. “Sorry about that. Everyone’s drunk.”

“Including you?”

“Obviously, why the fuck would I stay sober?”

“Maybe because getting blackout drunk isn’t cool or exciting after the age of 25.”

“Fuck you.”

Shane laughs, picking up his wine glass and leaning against the wall nearest. Hearing Roy’s voice did something to him he couldn’t completely explain - a small twinge of melancholy, caught up in everything else that’s so much heavier. He doesn’t have time to acknowledge the feeling because he’s always busy, there’s no time to evaluate something as minuscule as what it is he feels for his best friend. It’s probably just the fact he misses him so much. Roy always knows exactly what to say when Shane was most down, and he always knows how to make Shane laugh. Roy just knows instinctively how to make Shane feel good with the simplest gestures.

Shane takes a sip of his wine and hums. “So, a strip club aye? You hoping to get lucky? Let me guess.” He smirks, pointing a finger forward as if Roy can see him. “Shorter than you so you don’t feel inadequate, muscled arms, short blonde hair, and a great rear end? No- a  _perfect_  rear end. That’s the Roy Haylock check list, right?” Shane snickers smugly. “You’re too predictable.”

“Again, fuck you! I am not predictable, and that is not my type!”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is.”

“No it fucking isn’t!” Roy laughs. The music was still heavy in the background, and Shane could hear the familiar voices around the table teasing Roy for being on the phone. It was a little peculiar that he would call Shane in the middle of a night out. “Hold up, I just want to get somewhere quieter, stay there!”

Shane listens to the shuffling static on the other end and the few times Roy shouts “excuse me!” as he marched through the presumably busy room. Soon it’s quiet and all he hears is Roy breathing.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Roy says, laughing under his breath before grunting. “I’m so drunk-  _shit_. You don’t feel it till you’re outside.”

Shane has always been amused by drunk Roy - he’s a lot more open and free spirited. He walks across his living room into his kitchen, putting the wine glass on the counter and leaning on the surface to watch out his window. “You’re such a mess.”

“Neither of us are clean queens, bitch. I know what you’re like drunk so this is strictly a judgement free zone, got it?” Roy warns, going on before Shane could interject. “When was the last time I saw you? It’s been way too long, right? So fucking long. Was…was it when we went to the alley bar in L.A with Darienne? And oh my God, he took home those two 20 something year olds! HA! He left us, a couple of losers to lick our wounds. What an asshole. But, that was it, yeah? That was when I last saw you?”

Shane smiles. “Yeah. Well I saw you the next morning when you woke up hungover and almost naked in my bed- if you want to get technical.”

There’s a pause, then a cough. “Mmm. But I can’t believe it’s been such a long time. I miss you, my little angel. Feels like I’ve lost an arm being away from you this long.”

Shane can’t help the eruption of a laugh that let loose. “Okay, I’m cutting you off- you’re way too drunk for your own good!”

But his laughter doesn’t interrupt Roy’s train of thought. “You’re such a great guy, Shane. As much as you can be a cunt, you’re so good deep down-  _real good_. I need to see you soon, I need to laugh with you.” He chuckles - Shane swears he can hear Roy falling against a wall or something. “You know Valentina stole my fucking white liner! I bet- she fucking wore a lot of white at our gig last night and magically mine has disappeared. Or, maybe I lost it, I don’t know. Detox has been all over it, saying she’s trying to steal my look, trying to take my gigs. Alyssa too, prancing about the place, pretending to stone everything…” there’s a long exhale of breath. “I miss you. You’d love it here, it’s a great fucking laugh.“

Shane’s stomach curls in on itself ever so slightly to make him groan, quiet enough Roy didn’t hear. “When you back in L.A? We’ll do something. There’s a new vegan dessert place that just opened up a few streets down from my place.”

There’s a mess of static movement, then the familiar bass pounding through the background of Roy’s humming. “Two weeks- no, less than two weeks and I’m back. Clear your schedule, we’ll do a whole shebang! Watch some crappy movies, go to this vegan place you’ll probably beg me to try out, it’ll be great!” He hears scraping against wood and more voices cheering. “Listen, I’ll let you go but text me tomorrow morning. Remind me, and we’ll plan it!”

Shane smiles. “Sure. Have a good night, Roy.” He says, picking up his wine glass again.

“I’ll think of you as I’m shoving dollars down a strippers pants.” He laughs and sets the phone down.

Shane was about to hang up and get back to his evening read when he heard muffled laughter still coming from the speaker, and then a faint high pitched voice ringing through the assortments of sounds. Shane held the phone back up to his ear, realising his friend hadn’t hung up. He laughs, ready to hit end when he heard the indisputable voice of Detox:

“You’re a sucker for that guy, I swear.”

And as quick as a flash, he was hooked on the conversation, needing to assure whether “that guy” was himself or the possibility it was was a young, naive stripper that had captured Roy’s attention solely. Either was as unlikely to be the right answer.

“What the fuck you talking about?” He hears Roy slur, not quite angry but not quite amused.

“You, and those big heart eyes you have whenever you talk to Courtney. Are you ever going to admit it?”

Shane’s heart was suddenly in his throat, his eyes wide. He put his wine glass back down and listens closely, wondering if he’d stumbled into a lucid dream.

“Admit what? There’s nothing to admit to.” Roy laughs- that boisterous, overly masculine laugh that differs from the dolphin like sound. Shane holds the phone closer to his ear, as if he can fall through the speaker and land in front of the other man, listen more attentively. He doesn’t realise he’s been holding a breath in the whole time eavesdropping.

“You have the biggest crush on him, Roy. It’s painfully obvious.” Shane thinks it’s Alyssa that speaks.

“Oh, fuck you guys.” Silence, then a glass slamming on the table. “I talk to him the same way I talk to any of you, and trust, I’m not looking to stick my dick in any of you pigs.”

“Sure you do.” Detox coughs. “ _I’ll think of you as I’m shoving dollars down a strippers pants- Oh cum biscuit- Miss you, cum biscuit_!” The sound of mocking kissing noises, then laughter. “The sooner you face it, the easier it’ll be to get over it.”

Shane’s not sure what to think. He’s half praying for more denial, but there’s a twinge in his chest that’s hanging onto hope, like he  _could_  stand the very notion with so much distance between them, and so much intimacy already to sieve through. His breaths get heavier, harder to swallow, and his eyes grow frighteningly large. Shane’s not afraid of complications, but he’s afraid of someone like Roy. Those who clung to their personas, and ran when life got too real.

The conversation seems to have fallen quiet, then there’s a barely audible sigh. “It’s not like I can really admit to that shit though, let’s be honest. Maybe I feel something for Court, but we’re friends.”

Shane thinks his heart might implode.

“Friends can fuck.” Shea says; people clink their drinks in agreement.

“I don’t fuck where I eat. Too messy.”

“But you admit you want to fuck Courtney?” Shane can’t quite tell who it was that time. Probably Detox.

“Fine, yeah, I’d fuck Courtney. You happy?” A round of cheers before it settles again. “Whatever. I’m never going to tell him how I feel. It’s like having the flu, just gotta ride it out.”

“Haven’t you been trying to ride it out forever?” Detox teases. Shane hears Roy groan.

“You know what they say, B. Longer than 6 months means you’re in love!” Alyssa drawls out, drawing everyone else to laugh.

Shane yelps, hanging up abruptly before he can be sucked into a truth he’s not ready to face yet. Not when he’s so alone, with a glass of wine. Although as soon as he’s off the phone, and the room plummets into a dark silence that echoes his frantic heartbeat, he realises that it’s little too late. Shane knows something he was never supposed to, sinking under his skin and burning holes through his bones, weakening him.

How long? Since when? Why him? What now? Shane’s brain races a thousand miles an hour as he tries to come up with the answers he didn’t know he had. All of a sudden, things were so different. He couldn’t comprehend how with so much space between them and time to waste, Shane and Roy were now two different people to each other, and Roy was none the wiser to the shift. Behind the lock screen of Shane’s phone, Roy still loves on, drunk in a strip club with their friends, clueless to the skittish thundering of Shane’s heart. His best friend, the seams of their relationship straining to break free-

Shane falls against the kitchen door frame.

“Fuck.”

That was all he could say. A thousand thoughts whittled down to a single curse.

His home suddenly felt tainted. The words echoing between the walls, the underlying emotions still left a mystery screaming like unruly ghosts. The truth was Shane didn’t care about a friend liking him, and someone like Roy, it could be a whole lot worse, but if he knew the older man like he did than that meant the whole ordeal was going to be a trip. Someone like Danny would be easy, they could make out and maybe even sleep together and Danny would bore of him and they’d fall back into their friendship. Willam would skip all pleasantries, they’d fuck out of frustration and then go back to normal after a fortnight of bitchy texts. Almost all of his friends were pretty liberal and sexually free that awkward crushes were as normal as eating breakfast- but then there was Roy. The man with so many hang ups and defence mechanisms it was like talking to a robot sometimes. Roy, who only went home with strangers from bars when he was on his own and never in front of Shane, but of course he had a type. He who never had a boyfriend, only hookups, and a million secrets.

Well…there was that one guy. The model, what was his name? Shane only met him once, and now that he thinks about it Roy had seemed more interested in him than his actual boyfriend.

He needs support. The more he thought, the more his headache came forward. He calls the one person who could help.

“Booty call central. You stock it, I’ll suck it.”

“Hello Willam.” Shane couldn’t laugh, not this time.

“There’s only two reasons people call this late, and that hello was not the hello for fucking.” Willam clicks his tongue. “Not that I’d fuck you anyway. So, who died? Oh God please don’t be a parent, I’m not good with that shit.”

“Willam, if my mother died, I wouldn’t call you first.”

Willam fakes a hurt gasp. “Why not?!”

“You just said yourself you’re not good with that stuff.”

“I said shit, not stuff.”

“Okay, off topic. No one’s dead, Willam.” Shane rubs his eyes, looking back at the wine glass on the counter. He needs something much stronger now. “I just found out something I shouldn’t have, and I don’t know what to do.”

“What was it?”

“You can’t tell anyone.” Shane warns, eyes piercing as if he can see Willam in front of him; arms crossed and expression over it.

“I’m not making that promise.” Willam laughs, making Shane grit his teeth in frustration (maybe not the one person who could help after all).

“Willam, seriously-“

“On a scale of you being pregnant to you being Trump in disguise, how secret is this, really?”

Shane looks at the phone quizzically. “What? I don’t know…as secretive as Trump fucking a clown would be.”

“Oh, so this is about Bianca.”

Shane’s heart drops. “How did you guess from just that?”

Willam scoffs. “Code word: Clown. Come on then, spill. What’s Count Grumpula done now? Stuck a white liner up your ass and called it a night?”

He rolls his eyes at the childish laugh on the other end of the phone, then sighs. “Roy’s in love with me.”

“WHAT?!” The laughter gets louder, it sounds like Willam might pass out. Shane wishes he could find the amusement in the situation.

“Okay, maybe not in love, but he likes me. He has a crush on me, or whatever you say when you’ve passed the age of 12! I heard him talking to- Willam, will you stop laughing!” There’s a few more wheezes, then the supportive words of encouragement for Shane to continue. “I heard him talking to Detox and Alyssa and whoever else, and he said he can never tell me he likes me. He said he’d fuck me. What the hell do I do with that piece of information?!”

“I dunno. Fuck him?”

“You’re the only other person I know as emotionally unavailable as he is, and even then you’re not good enough.” Willam gasps again, Shane ignores it. “What do I do? Should I confront him?”

“At his age, I’d be scared you’ll give him a heart attack. But I mean, what else can you do? The cats out the bag now- Bitchy Del Rio got  _caught_   _in the act_.” If an eye roll was audible, Shane’s would be deafening. “Your best bet is to offer him a blow job of condolence, and then never bring it up again. Bianca is too much of a professional to ever let a friendship become more than just that, especially you. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade your cunty ass in for anything, but you’re all feelings and talking, and Bianca…isn’t.” Willam’s bluntness stings Shane slightly, he feels a faint watering festering behind his eyes. He wills them back, biting the inside of his cheek as Willam went on. “But, you’re you. I could tell you anything and all you’d hear is ‘talk to him, talk to him’ so I guess my advice is, talk to him. Just say you know he wants to eat out your ass and you’re cool with it.”

“Willam, why take it there?” Shane says, this time laughing, finally.

There was the sound of jingling pots on Willam’s end of the phone. “Here’s a question. Are you cool with it? Would you let Bianca fuck you?”

In Shane’s head, the question was less ambiguous of emotion: Are you into Bianca too? He thinks about it for a second, the static of the phone and Willam obviously now talking to someone on the other end as the only background sound, and it really didn’t bother him. Full disclosure, Shane thought Roy was incredibly attractive when they were together filming Drag Race, and he had hoped they might hook up just once, but as time went on the fantasy became less and less shiny and soon was another rusted idea, left to collect dust but never thrown away. Roy was still attractive, and he was one of the funniest people Shane had ever met, so maybe the answer was yes, in a weird round about way that could only come up if thrust upon first. If Roy was to kiss Shane, he wouldn’t be repulsed; he’d probably be a little sheepish and filled to the brim with butterflies.  

Shane exhales through his nose loudly. “I’ve got to talk to Bianca.”

Willam hums, uninterested. “If it was meant to be, it’ll be. Don’t call me crying when it goes belly up though, call Alaska.” With that, Willam hangs up. Shane knows that’s his way of caring, directing him to the person who’s emotionally capable of listening to raw feelings, and that’s fine. Willam is the type to be honest, and echo the thoughts a person would rather pretend don’t exist in their head.

Shane’s arms fall to his side, and his body slides down the frame of the door till his bum hits the floor. He sits there, thinking, head dropped back as if he can play the scenario in his head on his ceiling. He had to confront Roy - of course he did, there’s no way he could go on with this secret, but he had little faith in his friend being calm enough to have a mature conversation.

Less than two weeks, that’s all. Shane could wait. It gave him time to write a perfect script for the confrontation; even enough time to write Roy’s lines.

-

Shane’s dreams become infested with Roy’s image. It’s not that they’re profound or sexual, he’s just there. Sometimes a main character, sometimes just in the background. It leaves Shane a little breathless when he wakes up.

Roy’s texting as if nothing’s changed, because for him it hasn’t. Shane replies as if nothing’s changed, just to maintain normality.

With every passing day, Shane feels more and more nauseous. He doesn’t know how he’s going to confront him.

-

Roy almost threatens Detox to keep his lips sealed about their little conversation. He laughs, and Roy worries it means his shameful secret is about to become news to everyone, but Detox assures him they’d all agreed what happens Montreal, stays in Montreal.

He’s never telling him the truth. Never ever. His feelings will die with him, and maybe Shane will find out after he’s long gone, but that’s okay. Less aggravation for Roy. Montreal is the closest to genuine Roy ever plans to be about his feelings for his friend.

-

Willam: AAA gig in San Diego next week. Bianca’s on the line up. U fucked yet?

Courtney: Still away. We’re not going to fuck.

Willam: Alaska agrees you should fuck.

Courtney: I told you not to tell anyone!

Willam: She’s been rooting for you two to get together since day 1. Don’t make her cry.

Courtney: Why did you tell her!

Willam: I told you I wasn’t promising. But fine, I won’t tell anyone else. I promise.

Courtney: You’re an asshole.

Willam: Can’t argue there.

-

Bianca: SAN DIEGO GIG. DO YOU WANT TO TRAVEL DOWN TOGETHER?

Bianca: Sorry, caps.

Courtney: Not getting Mr Del Rio to personally escort you? ;)

Bianca: I’M NOT FUCKING MY ASSISTANT, STOP CALLING HIM THAT!

Bianca: I meant for caps that time.

Bianca: I get back the day before. We can get dinner before driving down. I was thinking of arriving early morning so it’ll be a late drive.

Courtney: I have a new vegan recipe I’d like to try. Come over to mine instead, then we can go!

Bianca: Being vegetarian doesn’t mean I like vegan food.

Courtney: I thought you liked my cooking :O

Bianca: I tolerate it. 6PM I’ll be over. We leave no later than 8PM.

-

Roy had been sitting in Shane’s kitchen for about 10 minutes now. When Shane had answered the door, he felt a weird anxiety twist through the bones of his rib cage like a snake, and it was as if Roy had been away at war for years how Shane was sickly relieved to see him. The wise old eyes as normal as they always were, not any more or any less fond of Shane, and the smirk stitched to his face, the seams scarred, his dimples sharp like glass. His lips were more plump than the last time they’d seen each other, Shane couldn’t help snicker.

“You’ve been hanging around Detox too much.” Shane teased, tapping his own bottom lip.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They hugged, for good measure. Roy’s arms like tree trunks around his body, he felt secure in his hold, all the frivolous thoughts that had been causing him such anxiety suddenly gone. For Roy, it was just another hug on another day, but Shane had been counting down the seconds until they were next meeting, needing closure on the truth Roy had no idea had been revealed. He was real, not just a voice over the phone or an image in a dream- Roy was a physical body with a working heart, and arms that kept Shane from falling, and he felt happy.

Shane stirred the pot of steamed vegetables. Roy made fun of him. They ate together and didn’t talk about the line between them that they tiptoed around, staying on their separate sides. Roy laughed at something Shane said, and vise versa. Why couldn’t it stay like this forever?

Because Shane was horrible with keeping things in and pretending there wasn’t an elephant in the room.

“I haven’t exactly got a strippers body.” Roy says in response to Shane’s comment about Montreal. He’d seen the video of all of them on stage, where Bianca strutted down the stage and barely touched the stripper pole. Shea was all over the metal like it was lathered in strawberry lube or something, but Roy would never dare be that provocative. “Or face. Or anything. I’m the guy at the bar you talk to after trying to fuck the stripper, grabbing the first top you see.”

“You say that,” Shane takes another bite, chewing loudly, not noticing how Roy scowled. “But you’re pretty flexible. You keep it under lock and key but I saw you doing that gymnasts class with Violet.” He swallows, pointing his knife at Roy, sly smile as if he’s caught his friend in a lie; the unimportant lie compared to what’s to come. “Bet those moves come in handy in bed.”

Shane takes note of how Roy shifts slightly, stuck for a reply longer than what was normal for him. Not the kind of statement he should be throwing around at the guy who has a thing for him and maybe that’s alright, Shane hasn’t decided yet-

“The bartender I picked up in Montreal didn’t seem to mind, sure.” Roy replies, winking. He took the last bite of his food then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Nice work chef.” He stands up, taking his plate to the sink to wash up - like they were already living a domestic life and this was their house, and washing dishes was their little way of saying ’ _I love you_ ’ after a long day. Shane lets him take his plate, stuck on his remark.

“A bartender?” Shane repeats. The blush that slithers up his neck makes him twitch, holding the hot skin. The night Shane had spent awake until the exhaustion kidnapped him, Roy was fucking someone. He holds a calm demeanor. “Was he typical blo-“

“No, he wasn’t fucking blonde. He was taller than me, he had two stick arms covered in tattoos, but he did have a great ass so I’ll give you that one.” Roy turns off the tap, drying his hands on his side. “And that’s all I’m telling you.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t just drop a bomb like that and leave me in the dark.” Shane’s eyes follow Roy as he sits back down, then he rests his head in his hands, smiling like a giddy kid. “How was he?”

Usually Roy would stay coy unless under the influence, but he feels a little dangerous tonight, like flaunting a good time to Shane wasn’t the end of the world, and might in fact help him build himself up. He raises an eyebrow and laughs under his breath. “He talked a lot and came too fast, but he knew how to ride a dick so what else mattered. It was one of those nights where it didn’t really matter who it was. I just needed someone.”

Shane’s eyes widen and he tries to play it cool. He straightens in his chair. “Why? Didn’t you have a good time in Montreal?”

Roy shrugs, still smiling. “Same old shit just a different day.” His eyes fall, dragging his finger along the table edge. “It was fun, sure. The same why getting drunk with sloppy, horny queens is always fun, but it just…I had stuff on my mind I guess. Sex always settles the waters, so I got laid and the rest is history.”

Shane swallows the lump in his throat. He feels like he’s against his doorway again, sliding down to the floor, feeling pity for himself. He can still hear Roy’s voice like static whistling through his empty house, bouncing from wall to wall, haunting him. Now he’s here, with the reality of his anxieties in its physical form; the same pointed face with humble brown eyes; he imagines that face distorted with pain, hair tousled and lips swollen after intense sex, waiting to fall asleep with thoughts of Shane. Does Roy fall asleep thinking about Shane? When he was with other men, their bodies soaked in sweat and the sheets stuck to their skin they throw them off the bed for a breeze, does his heart hurt for Shane instead of whatever stranger? Maybe it was narcissistic for Shane to think he was that significant, but he would have never imagined it before he’d found out the truth.

He had to hear it, as a confession.

Shane reaches his hand across the table, touching Roy’s fingers and creating a comfort he needs for himself let alone the other man.

“You can tell me. Whatever’s on your mind, I’ll never judge you.” Shane says, his fingers delicately stroking along the cracks of Roy’s knuckles. They’re a little bruised and battered, but he doesn’t bother asking, both out of fear it’s to do with him or it’s even worse. Roy’s eyes look down at the action, and he holds a breath for a second, before yanking his hand away and rolling his eyes.

“Stop being a dick, I’m fine.”

The subject is dropped. Roy goes on about his wonderful adventures in Montreal and Shane pretends he’s not annoyed hearing about it - the place that was the setting for the destruction of normality. The bartender. The guy Detox was trying to blow. The overcompensating ‘straight guy’. Shane had to hear about them all, and he was beginning to wonder if whatever the feelings were Roy was having were starting to get stronger, hence why he was having more casual sex and indulging him in the details for the first time ever. A good friend wouldn’t have felt jealous, but how could Shane not when there was so much now lying between them.

Before leaving, Roy rooted through Shane’s wardrobe and picked his drag apart piece by piece. Either too trashy or too classy, and Shane would reply with laughter and a middle finger. Roy tried on Shane’s wigs, doing his best Australian accent and twirling around the room, just to get a cheap laugh from his friend, who was fallen spread across the bed in fits of laughter, cursing under his breath all the same. Nothing was different, it was still light and breezy between them- yet Shane couldn’t look at Roy without wondering if he was in pain, or if he was seething with unspoken words left to settle in the dust, and it was driving Shane insane let alone the person who actually felt everything.

Although, how was Shane supposed to pretend he didn’t feel anything for Roy? Of course he did. It was subtle, and more of a distant thought that would need some time to blossom, but it was there. Those short bursts of breath caught on the edge of his tongue when Roy was shirtless, or the sweet sighs of relief after too much laughter together, or the cramping of his heart when they’d been apart for too long. In the most obvious sense, Shane had always had a thing for Roy, but he was so used to bursts of admiration and accepting love that came and went, he never paid any attention to what was right under his nose. Not really anyway, not enough that he ever thought past hooking up and into the realms of a relationship.

They’d probably work out too, if Roy was good with accepting emotions as wonderful and not scary. Shane would keep the level head, Roy would keep them organised, and they’d stay like best friends with all the extra parts that made being human so extraordinary.

However, watching Roy toss the long strands of blonde hair over his shoulder, Shane feels sick again. Lost in the confliction, he needs something to tide over the crashing waves of his stomach.

“Roy, I need to tell you something-”

“Shit!” Roy looks at his phone, before shoving it back into his pocket and pushing Shane slightly as he ran out the room. “It’s almost 8! Fuck, where did the time go?! Come on, asshole, get your shit in my car and let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Shane listens to him gallop down the stairs and run out the door, and when the house was bare, he grunts in annoyance, falling on his back.

-

The evening was setting in. The stars had began to appear in the navy sky, twinkling brighter the further out of the city they drove. Shane rests his head on the window, the cold of the glass and the soft hum of the music brushing by him like drizzly rain, it’s  _okay_. A contrast to the tensing of his chest and the looping of his thoughts, as Roy drives steady down the road.

When Shane was a kid he used to love star gazing in Australia. The American sky has nothing on the outback, that was for sure. Shane can still remember the lucid blues dipping into one another, the black fawning over, and the stars would burst through like there was an urgency to be seen. So many nights he would lay on the warm sandy ground, hands behind his head as he stared up at the breathtaking view, and he’d wish for all the opportunities to bless him. Sun kissed skin caressed by the first breeze of the day, he’d smile every time, like it was the first and last time he’d felt wind. Staring out the window now was less tranquil and more agitating, as if those same stars that once gave him comfort had seen the true, ugly colours of his sinful adulthood. The lies, the tears, and everything that made Shane worry.

American air was stiffer, and the stars were duller- Shane felt like he was about to implode, and Roy still had no fucking clue.

“My mom called the other day asking if I’ve been eating right.” Roy says, breaking the silence. Shane lifts his head to listen more intently. “It’s like I’m not a fucking adult and I’m still the 20 something disaster starving himself in favour of vodka and cable TV.”

“You had your priorities.”

“We can’t all be Mr Tiny Tot, some of us had to work two jobs on 3 hours sleep just to make ends meet!” Roy laughs, winking at Shane before sighing. “Remember when we were 20 though? It was like someone threw a huge hunk of beef into the lion’s cage- every gay for himself! As soon as I was out of my parents house and had my own place…I didn’t sleep alone until I was like 25.”

Shane raises an eyebrow. “You, a regular sleepover host?” He huffs out an exaggerated laugh, smirking wickedly when Roy flips him off. “What happened to  _that_  Roy, aye? Aw, were you a little spoon in your 20s?” The very idea of Roy curled up to someone, defenceless to the affection of someone else wanting him, it was amusing yet warming.

But there’s a quiet that settles dark over them. Roy shuffles in his seat, smile untraceable, and then he coughs. “I grew up. Whatever. My 30s were better. I had money, I had dogs, what the fuck else did I need?” The smile returns and Shane relaxes along with Roy.

There’s no point prolonging the inevitable. The repeating anxiety that wavers in every tense silence, every forced conversation was pushing Shane further and further off the edge.

“Roy, I  _really_  need to talk to you about something. It’s important.” he says, quiet. Roy looks over at him suspiciously, before shrugging and taking a turn.

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, it’s not easy.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in forever and you want a serious chat? Okay, fun, lay it on me.”

Shane curses himself, because soon Roy’s going to be angry and the mood will be awkward, but he can’t go on pretending he doesn’t know.

“Roy…I know the truth. I know how you feel about me.”

He thinks for a second he imagined saying it by the way Roy doesn’t react. He stares at his friend, face blank, eyes clear, nothing strict on his pointed face. Then a chuckle.

“You know I think you’re an asshole? Yeah, that’s not new news.” he jokes.

“No, Roy. I heard you, on the phone in Montreal.” He pauses, watching for any reaction: just his brows falling. “I know you… _like_  me. I also know the last thing you’d want is to talk about it but I need to know, from you. How do you feel about me, Roy?”

The older man stays quiet, processing the confrontation. The cogs in his head furiously spinning, going into overdrive and the smoke begins to pour from his ears as a weird feelings starts to overwhelm him. Anger, so normal, but there’s fear and panic, and his palms are suddenly sweaty as it becomes apparent his dirty little secret is no longer a secret. He tries to take a relaxing breath, laugh it off, but Shane is deadly serious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shane,” he replies, voice a little tighter but still firm. Shane sees through him like glass, and keeps watching him,  _studying_  him.

“I heard you with Detox and Alyssa and everyone. I already know. I just think we should talk about it because…well, now I know, there’s no going back to before I knew.”

“You’ve obviously dreamt this or-”

“Don’t try and convince me I’m crazy or something, I know what I heard. I’m not trying to embarrass you. We’re friends, I just want us to have an honest, healthy conversation about our feelings for once.” Roy scoffs, but Shane ignores the clear distaste. “I haven’t seen you in a really long time. I missed you like crazy, and after I heard what you said…I started thinking.”

“Please stop.”

“I’m mean hey, it’s not exactly  _crazy_ , we do get on like a house on fire! And I can’t pretend the idea of us hasn’t crossed my mind.”

“Jesus- seriously,  _stop_.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Why? Look, it’s just a conversation. There’s nothing wrong with actually having feelings and wanting to be with someone-”

“E-fucking-nough!” Roy yelled, slamming his hand down on the leather of the steering wheel, making Shane jump and widen his eyes in shock. They fall painfully quiet, and the only sound his Roy’s breathing, quick and brash, full of annoyance and urgency to escape.

Shane didn’t think it was possible for someone like Roy to have a panic attack- he seemed untouchable to the real, raw emotions everyone else showed, the good, the bad, and the ugly. He watches Roy’s face frozen over while his eyes light up like a Christmas tree, caught on fire, shards of glass exploding as the electricity expands. His jaw tenses, his nose flared, his chest high like a proud bird- this was a Roy no one had ever seen.

_Terrified_.

Still angry, that was normal, but all the same, there was terror in the mix.

Shane was suddenly scared to be in the car with him, his hands stuck to the steering wheel, like he could drive off a cliff’s edge at a whims notice if it pleased him so. He watches his friend, flicking through words to string together a coherent lullaby to calm him down.

“Roy, it’s fine,” he starts, tugging his seat belt to check it’s definitely locked. “I don’t care. These things, they’re a part of life! I just felt wrong pretending I didn’t know, and I wanted to apologise I’d overheard. It’s not as if I want to end our friendship over something so trivial.” He tries to give him a comforting smile, but Roy’s breathing picked up as he continued to stare intensely onward. He looks somewhere between murderous and dying. Shane would normally open the doors of affection, set his hand on his knee, stroke his back, something that would settle all anxieties, but this was the man that locked those doors and threw away the key. Shane held back his hand, like Roy might bite it off, and kept talking. “You don’t need to worry. Really, I’m flattered if anything!” he laughs; it doesn’t loosen the tension. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Roy…It’s okay.”

Abruptly, Roy takes a sharp turn down a dark road off the main junction, Shane shifting in his seat as the force of the metal takes strength. Roy grits his teeth, muttering nonsense between short bursts of breath, racing down the pitch black. Shane grabs the ceiling handle and holds on tight, yelling at his friend to slow down, but it’s all white noise. All Roy can hear is the drumming of his heart and the echoes that mock:

_I know the truth. I know how you feel about me._

_It’s okay_.

He skids slightly, not flinching when Shane grabs his arm and screams. He pulls over, car bucking as it mates the curb, and he barely even checks the cars off before hurtling out of it, almost being dragged back by his seatbelt. He scrambles up the dirt path, breathing erratic like he’s in danger of losing it, his legs turning jelly the higher the climb. There’s a grassy hill - he sprints for it, everything in him pounding and crying, he thinks he could drop dead from the lack of control.

Shane grabs the car keys and locks it up, running after Roy. The wind rushes past, burns his skin with a breeze, blistering his pale complexion; the weather sending them down a turmoil of disillusion, like it was all a game; as if  _anyone_  could control  _anything_  around them. His calves burn as the hill lifts, begging him to stop. There’s not a breath of hope he’ll cease at how fast Roy is running. He watches the older man reach the top and then fall to his knees, and Shane  _stops_. His feet run out of energy and he awaits, the space between them looming the longer Roy kneels, silent.

Then, a loud, gravelly yell breaks the navy sky, and the stars pour upon their souls out of shame and pity.

“ _FUUUUUUUUCK_!” Roy shouts, his voice echoing off into the distance. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCKING  _FUCK_!” He repeats, like the curse could send him back in time. His face drops into his hands, scowling as he breathes heavily through his teeth. Shane watches, standing in the middle of the unknown field, half irritated and half empathetic toward the older man’s obvious fear of real human connection. It didn’t take a lot to see him angry- or, whatever this  _may_  have been- but this wasn’t the time he expected the usual.

_I’m different_. Shane thought, crossing his arms as his own anger rose.  _I’m different, I’m his friend- one of his best friends. I get him. I know him. I would never hurt him, never_.

The night is hauntingly black, and the stars are fickle. Shane can feel the colours fade from his cheeks as the cold waves by, but he doesn’t do anything to warm up. He stays still, watching the older man melt down in the distance, thinking. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, it’s a part of life, developing feelings for a close friend. It’s happened to Shane a million times- he’s not even remotely disgusted or awkward about the fact Roy thinks he’s attractive. If anything, he’s a little too delighted. He couldn’t even bare the idea of ditching Roy over something so unimportant. Why is he overreacting like this?

Shane finally storms over to him after too long of watching the temper tantrum. He lifts him to his feet and grabs Roy by the shoulders shaking him. “Calm the hell down, you’re in your 40s for God’s sake!” He pushes him back, not too hard but enough force to make his friend stumble. They stare at each other, unable to register the others thoughts by their face. “Why are you freaking out so much? It’s not that big a deal.”

“It fucking is to me, asshole!”

“Why?”

“I’m no good at relationships, Shane! I’ve fucked up every single one I’ve been in.” He crosses his arms, looking away, as if looking for too long into Shane’s eyes may cause him to combust, burn down to nothing but the ashes of his affection. “I don’t want to fuck up with you. You’re one of my best friends.”

Shane inches closer. “You don’t know you’ll fuck up. You can’t avoid things in life because you’re scared.” He lifts his smile, trying to catch the other man’s eye, let him know with more than words he’s in safe hands- but rather holds back a curse when the stubborn bastard resists eye contact further. “Just tell me the truth, Roy. I want to hear it from you.”

Roy grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose. The wind picks up, brushing through the overgrown tufts of his hair. Shane watches him, feeling like he may fall off the edge of their crumbling cliff if he didn’t say something: anything! In all the time he’s known Roy, he’s never seen the man in such a flustered silence before.

“What do you want me to say, hm?” Roy barks. “Let’s get married, have a couple of kids and live happily ever after? Is that what you want?”

“No, but I-“

“You what?!” Roy’s glare feels like flame throwers. “This isn’t what I want, Shane! For fucks sake, I don’t want to tell you shit!” He laughs sinisterly. “I’m fine on my own. I’ve got my dogs, I’ve got all my teeth, I don’t need anything more.  _I don’t need you_.”

The walls are starting to go up. Shane needs to think fast, before the bricks are too high and they’re on separate sides of a conversation, yelling into the oblivion.

“Okay.” Shane says, a tone of affirmation. He straightens up and frowns, his smile never breaking. “You don’t need me, fine. I don’t need you either, but maybe I like you being around. That’s allowed, you know. What, you think I need you, like I’d need medicine or something? You think I’d need a closed off cunt like you, really?!” Shane squares up to Roy, and his lips finally falter, straightening into something else- as closed off as Roy is, as cold as the weather is. It makes the older man stiffen slightly. “You’re against opening up but I bet you’re fine with a blowjob. What’s a blowjob between two friends, aye? Sex isn’t important, as long as we don’t talk about it-“

“Get over yourself.”

“No!” Shane shouts. The air turns bitter. “Get over  _your_ self. Come on, Roy,” a smirk reappears, “I know you. Take home a guy, a Tom or a Chris, as long as he’s all over you, and you forget how to be human. Fuck him, get a gig, rinse repeat! You’ll never need a relationship if you satisfy your dick, and you’ll never need to face your feelings if you keep busy- keep running!” Before he could even stop himself, Shane shoves Roy backward. “I heard you, Roy. I know what’s going on in that head of yours.” He shoves him again, this time getting a reaction from Roy slapping his hands away. “Let’s just do what everyone does. What you do, get it out our system’s, fuck away the pain and feelings till we’re empty shells.” Shane links his fingers through Roy’s belt loops, frantically toying with the belt buckle as opposing hands fought him. “Nothing real, just full blown sex.”

“Stop!” Roy grabs Shane by the wrists and holds them up high. He’s practically seething with fury, nails digging into the taunt white of Shane’s skin, but he looks hurt - Shane can see the anguish in his dark eyes. “For once, can’t you not be a slut?”

It’s like acid. Shane can only laugh. “For once, can’t you be human?”

They stand like that for too many seconds, feeling like haunting hours, his grip loosening but never releasing. Everything felt other-worldly, as if they’d been taken over or they’d died, watching a version of themselves that bubbled with a vengeful rage. Roy was smart, he’d been through the trials and tribulations of every disaster natural life had to offer, and even though he was desperate to fight on, he knew deep down Shane wasn’t the worst trial he’d faced. He was the sunniest, the most kind and compassionate being he’d had the pleasure to meet, that falling in love with him was hardly going to kill him - but the fear wasn’t the falling, it was the landing. He didn’t want to splatter a bloody mess when Shane laughed in his face, or worst of all, smiled with that warmth as he let him down gently. He couldn’t bare handing over his heart and being rejected, worst of all by someone so magnificent. The pain of repression was better than the kiss of death.

Roy’s head drops. He takes a breath, the first that doesn’t feel like it’s being held out of reach. He lets go of Shane’s wrists, running a hand through his hair. “Well…look, I’m not good at being human. I’m better at smart, bitchy comments that don’t cut me open.” He looks up at Shane, his face going soft. “I don’t want to make an ass out of myself. That’s not my style. I’m the guy you go to when your boyfriend cheats on you and you need someone to drink with, or the one that helps you make a dress, or…” He grits his teeth, frustrated he can’t string together the right words. “I’m not going to give you what you want. That’s just not who I am.”

The burst of anger settles the raging waves of Shane’s wrinkles, his face falling smooth. He looks at Roy, and his chest heaves, hurt and needing for satisfaction. Time might run out if they don’t race for the ending. He slowly takes Roy by the shoulders, holds him steady as he looks deep into his eyes, seeing galaxies and infinities he wants to settle into, then pulls him in for a tight hug. It takes Roy a minute to process, but soon his arms are around Shane, squeezing back. They embrace till the wind stops, and the crickets sing, and the pressure of the air brings back the colour to their cheeks. Where did the cold go?

Shane pulls back, still holding Roy in case he falls. “I already told you, I know you. You’re more than you’re giving yourself credit.”

“Thought I wasn’t human?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “You’re a pain in the ass, and I was angry. I’m sorry.” It’s sincere, the blues of his eyes shimmering bright as hope refills his irises. “I won’t leave you, Roy. It’s just us here, no one else. I promise, if you tell me the truth, we can move past it. I’ll never bring it up again and you can go straight back to repressing everything. But for once, just say it. Say how you feel.”

His head is racing- Why does he have to say it? Why does it matter if they’re going to move past it? Why does it feel like he might burst into tears any second? Roy scowls, but he doesn’t let go of Shane, he’s afraid the world may tear open if they let go. There’s the smile that catches him breathless on a whim’s notice, and there’s the sparkle in his eyes that brightens up his world on a dull day, and there’s the accent that drives him up the wall but makes his heart skip a beat with every greeting. Roy wasn’t meant to fall for Shane, but he did.

Before he can argue with himself, he gives in to his desires and grabs Shane by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. Their teeth clatter but they don’t pay the pain any attention, rather Roy pours his heart into the kiss before it’s too late, his lips plush against Shane’s, his hands tight on his collar. It’s like he’s learning how to kiss for the first time all over again, the sweet serenity of feeling another man so intimately, as if the contact could open up Shane’s chest. He hopes it’s enough, that it’ll tide over the curiosity of Shane, and satisfy his own sanity, but before he can pull away he feels hands in his hair, and a tongue in his mouth.

The field is absorbed by the crystal black sky, and they delve deeper into the foreign passion, shattering the darkness with bursts of light. Sparks. Electric, heated sparks that keep their blood flowing and their hands feverish. Roy hasn’t kissed someone like this in years, he could get drunk on it if he’s not careful- Shane is already far gone, he’s wasted on the affection. His fingers lace in Roy’s hair. His legs buck. He pulls Roy down and they collapse on the grass, still kissing, never stopping, and then they’re a tangled mess like a pair of naughty teenagers.

Roy rolls onto his back, shifting Shane to sit on his waist and finally they pull apart, breathing desperately as if they’ve been suffocating. Shane’s skin is so pale under the moonlight, and Roy’s is burning red under the weight of his admission, fear stricken eyes begging for a release soon. He really is suffocating he thinks, with Shane’s eyes boring holes through him, and his hands pressed lightly against his chest. Shane can feel the rabbit-like pulse under his palm, and it’s the thing that forces him to break the mould with a laugh.

Roy frowns. “Don’t fucking laugh,” he commands, not as strong as he would have hoped. Shane bows his head before composing himself, a quivering lip still.

“I’ve got the hots for you too, pussyface,” he says, way too casually for Roy’s liking. “Always kind of have, if we’re being honest.” Which Roy still isn’t completely, but Shane’s grateful he’s quiet for a moment- that’s his honesty, as well as the kiss. “I’m sorry I was eavesdropping. Peek not at a keyhole, lest ye be vexed. But I guess if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be here.” He shifts his hips, feelings a certain appendage beneath him grow, Roy’s eyes widening more with confused annoyance. “What’s a little dry humping between two friends, aye?”

“You’re the fucking worst person I’ve ever met.” Roy says, deadpan, his hands involuntarily lifting to Shane’s hips. “Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

Shane’s smile drops. “Do you want that?” he asks, with a fragile kindness Roy is eager to shatter, regain his strength and leave victorious.

He stays quiet too long. “No,” he answers, honestly. “But I don’t know what I fucking want.”

“Do you want me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to stay here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want-“

“I’m starting to find what I want is to rip off that pea sized head of yours.” Roy throws his head back and grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. Shane decides to roll off Roy, and lays beside him, keeping quiet. He turns his head to admire him: the long spidery lashes, the point of his nose like a hill, the hollow crinkle of his smile lines on his cheeks. How could Shane not think he was breathtaking? Anyone with working eyes and coherent thought would find themselves caught under Roy’s spell, but Shane was used to crushes. He’d never shined a light on the feelings tucked away in his rib cage before, but they’d lasted impressively long now he thinks about it. Unlike Roy, it doesn’t phase Shane - he’d like to kiss the older man again, but he knows life isn’t always so generous.

In the absence of words, Shane boldly takes Roy’s hand in his own and squeezes playfully. Roy turns to look at him, lost for a moment, till he feels his heart thud like a jackhammer in the presence of Shane’s sunny disposition. He relaxes, his anxiety slowly untangling, and squeezes back on his hand as a sign of solidarity.

“Take your time.” Shane says. His hand is so soft- Roy hates how even his fucking hand gives him butterflies.

“Okay.” Roy licks his lips and breathes. “I’m a fucking asshole, I know. Always have been, always will be, and that reflects in the guys I’ve dated. I have scarred every guy I’ve dated some way or another, because I can’t stand someone knowing everything about me, because they’ll hurt me. It’s fucking pathetic, but that’s the truth. I was single for so long, and then…” He pauses, like someone’s gotten pliers and is trying to open him up, he has to take back the control. “I thought age would change me, but it didn’t. I’m good at the good bits, but I’m a fucking shit storm in the end. And you,” he snickers, “You’ve meant more to me than any boyfriend ever has, and that terrifies me. You’re not like anyone I’ve dated, you’re not the type I’d formed in my head, but you’re… _you_.” His dimples pinch his cheeks, seeing Shane’s lips tug up, ego probably stretching too. “I do need you, Shane. I do. But I can’t let you hurt me, because I refuse to feel that shit again, and  _I_  can’t hurt  _you_ , because that’ll fucking kill me.” He tries not to physically cringe at the line, holding his breath before exhaling, “I like you a lot.“

The world seems to have stopped, time no longer existing in the presence of their loving exchange. Shane’s heart swells, and his mood sores through the heavens. He tries not to react like a giddy school girl, but the way Roy looks pained, the way he’s still his best friend under the damage, makes him lift with jovial spirits. He doesn’t move too quickly, afraid to startle Roy, but he shrugs. “I can take pain. I’d gladly welcome it if it meant telling you—“ he chokes on a laugh, stroking his thumb over Roy’s knuckles; they feel rigged with scars. “Telling you the feelings are mutual. You shouldn’t be afraid. We all have a past, we all have demons. I don’t want you to be so afraid of hurting me you avoid what you want, and I would never hurt you, you gotta know that. Roy, I like you too, a lot. And that’s okay.”

“But I’ll fuck it up in the end-“

“You can’t be sure of that. I’m stronger than I look anyway.”

“Really, it’s always been an inevitable with me-“ Shane rolls over and stops him with another kiss, hard and painstakingly slow. Roy’s eyes slide closed as he slips through the lazy current of their ocean, waves coming and going, it’s stupendous. Shane pulls away but stays close, noses touching.

“Let’s just have tonight. I’m fine with pain, I just want you. The funny cunt who isn’t afraid of hurting someone.” Shane let’s out a long, tense breath, stroking Roy’s cheeks in his hands, needing a reminder he’s still here, that he’s not floating away. “Please?”

His gut is screaming to run, flee to the high hills and stay a prisoner of the dark, but Roy can’t seem to deny his primitive urges. Shane’s hands on his face, their chests touching, he feels more home than he ever has. Maybe this is the scare he needs. “Okay.” He gives in, settling Shane to rest on his chest, holding him close. “We’ll have tonight.”

Roy gives over a part of his heart he’s been holding back for far too long. They lay beneath the blanket of stars and watch the lights flicker, the twinkling specks bringing them closer to God and each other. Shane listens to the beating of Roy’s heart like it’s the sea inside a shell; like it will reveal secrets he’s always wanted to know; like it’ll surrender itself for the risk of love. He rests a hand over the one Roy has on his stomach, and sighs with relief. No more tensions causing earthquakes, they can rest on the edge of a cliff that looks over the vast sea of their devotion. In reality it’s a grassy hill somewhere between Los Angeles and San Diego, inhabited by only peace and them. There’s moments of quiet, there’s moments of laughter, and there’s moments that can only be satisfied with lips, spreading over the skin of a neck or a shoulder or wherever sensitive.

It’s like they’ve been doing this for years how natural it feels.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Shane says, some point past midnight. He sits up, looking off into the distance where there’s the muffled sounds of cars speeding down the highways, and even further are the blinding lights of the city that have nothing on the bliss of stars guiding you home. Roy props himself up on his elbows. “I shouldn’t have made you talk about your feelings if you didn’t want to.”

“No, maybe not…but it’s over and done with now.” Roy shrugs, taking Shane’s hands and sitting up. “I’ve never trusted someone like I trust you. Sometimes I’ll be buying groceries and I’ll think of you and it feels like a knife in my chest how much I’d bleed for you. I see some pretentious vegan cookbook or someone starts talking about gender politics or  _just blonde hair_  and bam, I’m fixated and I want to talk to you. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

Shane blinks, smirking. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea.”

“Kind of what I was hoping for.”

“So you’ve loved me since Drag Race?”

“Don’t get cocky.” Roy throws Shane’s hands back at him, snickering as Shane bursts into laughter.

There’s not much more to add to the conversation, for fear of going in circles. More kisses, more silence, then the reality must tire them out so much they fall asleep in each other’s arms across the grass, the wind sprinkling in to disrupt the wind. Roy wraps his arms around Shane when he shivers, and maybe this is all that was meant to happen - the beginning of an unknown confidence, bursting from the pits of fear, and nothing more. Maybe their night of romance was destined to be fickle and short lived, given it was never supposed to happen. If Shane hadn’t overheard, Roy would have gotten off scot-free, the walls being miles high around him. They’ll always have each other, but they don’t need this night to become anything more; because broken dishes and fists through walls and bottles upon bottles of sleeping pills are twice as painful when risking a friendship.

At least, Roy knows that. Shane is blissfully innocent when it comes to emotions.

-

Morning comes and Roy shoves Shane awake. They don’t speak initially because they’re hoarse with sleep, but the quiet soon becomes heavier than that. They get back into the car and drive, just the static radio to talk in space of any conversation they could have forced. Roy has bags under his eyes and his fingers keep twitching as if wired on caffeine, and Shane wonders if this is what they’ll become. Are they reduced down to awkward silences and antsy movements, because if so Shane will kiss Roy again just to knock some sense into him. Purely for Roy’s own benefit, nothing to do with what he so desires of course.

20 minutes go by before Roy speaks. Shane doesn’t break the silence because it’s not his heart on the line. He has feelings too, but it’s Roy’s vulnerability that’s fogging up the air. “We don’t tell anyone about last night,” he says, voice gruff like he’s smoked a pack of cigarettes. “I don’t want to complicate things further.”

Shane wants to argue back that everything is already complicated so why pretend otherwise, but he settles on a nod. “And what about us?” he asks, his face wanting to lift with a smile but not wanting to arise prematurely. He watches Roy with such intensity he thinks his eyes might fall out of his head, and the older man does the same but to the road ahead of them.

“I don’t want anything more than…” he pauses, takes a deep breath and grunts. “Nothing happened.”

Shane scoffs. “You just want to go on like nothing happened?” Roy doesn’t answer, so Shane goes on, more annoyed. “Why don’t you want to be happy, Roy? Why is it you’re more preoccupied with keeping a reputation than letting yourself be happy?! I’m not saying we could go the distance but-”

“Exactly, yet I  _am_  saying that we  _can’t_.” Roy finally looks at Shane, just for a second. His eyes are burning with anger, but they’re sorrowful. “Don’t you get it? I fucking know where this is heading, and I don’t want that. You think if we were supposed to be together it would have taken this long, with that amount of convincing? Whatever last night was, it’s the end of the beginning.”

“But-“

“You won’t change my mind.”

If Roy scowls anymore, he might get stuck that way. Shane purses his lips, then laughs, trying to lighten the insatiably heavy mood. “How about a blow job? I’m pretty good with my mouth, I’m sure I could change your mind.”

Roy doesn’t laugh. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

Shane sighs. “My feelings don’t matter then. What if I wanted more?”

That’s what makes Roy snicker, and Shane wants to kill him in that moment. His usually lovely dimples defined in a moment to hurt Shane. He’s starting to realise Roy really has scarred all of his ex boyfriends, because it already feels like there’s a cut running down his chest to his navel, but he refuses to waste a single drop of blood for him. Roy takes a turn, less cars on the road now, and he takes a second to look at Shane again. He looks smug, as if he’s won any of this bullshit. “You’ll be fine, Shane. Like you said, what’s a little dry humping between two friends.”

Shane’s throat closes. A whine he hadn’t realised within him caught on his tongue, sour. “You really want to play pretend? Roy, I’d never want to hurt you-”

“God, you’re a pussy. Are you always this fucking dramatic? Sometimes I feel like all I do is babysit you and Danny, and everyone else. Grow the fuck up, Shane. I’m not scared of getting hurt, so shut up,” Roy lies, grunting, then laughs, full of malice and a dark evil presence. “You and your bullshit, you’re like a damn migraine. You’re not the first person I’ve had to get over and you won’t be the last, so get off your high horse. You’re not special.” He looks over, up and down Shane’s body then scoffs. “You never will be.”

The last time Shane felt this angry-  _spiteful_ , like his fingers could turn into claws, and his jaw could dislocate so he could cut up and swallow everything blocking his path- was before he moved to America. When he was going through the motions of an unruly ocean, unsure of himself as every other Queen in Australia told him he was worthless. When he started coming to terms with his gender and his sexuality, and the spinning was beginning to stop, he’d feel hands push his shoulder and he’d be off again like a tornado. Their snarky red lips, their broken eyes, the only thing they wanted was to destroy Shane before he had a chance to grow with Courtney. The snapping was an outer body experience, he promised himself he’d never get that angry again. Last night with Roy was already intense, but here in the car, watching his friend mock him was more than Shane could handle. He wasn’t about to be walked all over; not again, never again.

Maybe Shane _did_  want to hurt him.

“Wasn’t  _my_  dick that was hard last night though,” Shane says, his tone calm but his eyes raging. He sees Roy stiffen, and the smell of fear is delicious. “It’s not me that’s in love with his best friend. That’s all on you. How does it feel, huh? Knowing no one will ever love you as much as you love them, and it’s  _all your fault._ ” Shane’s never felt so strong yet so weak at the same time. He realises they’re off the highway now and on a main road, with pedestrians and walking life. “Stop the car, I’m getting out.”

“What?”

“Stop the fucking car, you cunt.” Shane doesn’t shout, but he’s stern. Roy rolls his eyes, pulling over and turning the car off. They sit in silence for a second- Shane hopes that maybe Roy will say something to stop him, to pull him back under his wing and keep him calm, so they can repair whatever was tearing between them, but he doesn’t. Roy crosses his arms and waits, not dare looking at Shane. He laughs at Roy’s expense, getting out the car and slamming the door. “Call me when you get a spine.” Shane shouts, kicking the car door for good measure as Roy readies to speed away. He knows he heard him, but the exhaust of the engine still makes him cough up all the pain in his chest.

He stands in the middle of nowhere, watching the direction Roy had driven, and tears finally fall from his eyes. They’re not red hot and cooling down his cheeks, they’re soft and strained, barely bringing up any flush on his skin.

He calls an Uber and gets sent to Willam’s hotel room. He doesn’t care if he said not to call him when he’s crying after the downfall, he’s going there regardless. And Willam welcomes him, not with a hug, but with a look of pity and a shot of tequilla.

“Do you love him?” Willam asks when they start packing up their drag to leave, Alaska on her way down from her hotel room to meet them, leave as a three. Shane doesn’t lift his head from his duffel bag, but he can see the look on Willam’s face in his mind’s eye: the facade of smugness that’s really care.

“No,” Shane answers. “But I probably could have, if he wanted me to.”

-

Bianca knows she’ll have to face the music sooner or later, but she’d rather wait till Courtney’s squirming and pleading for her forgiveness. Apologise for forcing her to admit to a truth that made her sick. Apologise again, because the one she left last night was all in the moment, laced in stars and love hearts and all the shit Bianca despised.

She sits at her makeup table in silence, applying her foundation while listening to Adore and Katya babble about nothing interesting. Every so often she touches her chest, the space between her pecs, and lets out a breath of relief that there isn’t a gaping hole, rotting, making her sicker. It feels like it. Telling Courtney everything had left her more vulnerable than she had been since she was a teen first coming out. She hasn’t felt this powerless since her first great love when she was 22, which felt like a whole lifetime ago now she’s had two decades to grow since.

But that guy, with his fiery red hair and enchanting blue eyes, had been the one who changed Bianca’s perspective on love. She wouldn’t be used that way ever again. She wouldn’t let anyone get close enough to hurt her again, because if it happened, she knew she had to hurt them first.

It didn’t matter that Courtney was 100% different from the men of her past. It didn’t matter that Courtney was actually compassionate, smart and could crack a joke as well as Bianca could. It didn’t matter she could run circles around every other man Bianca had dated, because the point was as precise: she didn’t date for her own good, no exceptions.

Of course when she applies the lipstick to her lips, she thinks back to the way Courtney kissed her, bare of drag, but full of feelings. It felt amazing to let go of all her inhibitions for a change, and the hands on her hips to her chest to her shoulders, it was almost freeing for a second like she was reborn. Courtney-  _Shane_ , like an angel, no false persona or foundation to cover the red cheeks, Bianca felt her heart soaring at the sight. Courtney was breathtaking, and it was going to kill her a hundred times over in a hundred different ways if she allowed herself to love wholeheartedly. It always did, but this time might not be so numb, and she might not be able to forget with fireballs and tequila. This time might push her over the edge…

And as  _if_  Courtney liked her too- that was the pity talking when she said that, how convenient she’d have had feelings in return!

Whatever. It was over. Bianca was moving on. No more thinking about the kissing, or the light touches, or the running out of oxygen feeling like a drug. No more thinking about Courtney.

Bianca adds a few extra strokes of glue to the sides of the lace on her wig, grunting in frustration as the top layer begins to teeter over. Sometimes she despised being a drag queen. Katya and Adore are still cluttering the air of the dressing room with their madness, and it irritates her, more than it should. She glares at them through the mirror. Katya’s whole body spasming as she laughes, Adore’s mouth abnormally wide like she’s catching flies, it’s all too much to handle given the day she’s having.

“What the fuck is so funny? Can you guys shut up for a second, is that doable?” Bianca barks at them, pressing down on the lace hard. Adore and Katya share a look, smirking mischievously like a pair of misbehaving kids, and laugh again at Bianca’s expense.

“Well aren’t you a sour puss!” Katya mocks, strutting over to Bianca and grabbing a few pins from the desk she sits at, holding the higher wig up and sticking it back in place so it doesn’t fall. Bianca watches her, still frowning, not about to give her any sort of gratitude for the help. Katya walks round to sit on her makeup table, crossing her legs more exaggerated than needed, and stroks her chin. “Tell me dear, how’s your mental health?”

“Fuck you, you dumb cunt.” Bianca laughs, spraying her face with a setting spray. “You two are just annoying.”

“Wow, B. You’re usually so nice to me.” Adore whines, wrapping her arms around Bianca and squeezing her, keeping her grip tight when Bianca tries to bat her away. “Come on, tonight’s going to be fun! You, me and Court haven’t been together in, like, forever!” She pulls away, obnoxiously chewing gum, then blowing a bubble and shrugging as she pulls it back into her mouth. “Swear to God, I’m gonna get so fucked tonight! Like- drag my ass off the sticky dance floor I’m trying to hump-  _fucked_.” She laughs, and Katya joins in with a witchy cackle. Bianca rolls her eyes at the two and moves to get changed into her dress.

Dealing with Adore drunk was usually innocent fun, but Bianca is dreading seeing Courtney again. She wasn’t going to let herself spiral into a panic of course, but the anxiety is creeping up on her. Courtney was so angry when she left the car. She had never been that angry in the entirety of their friendship, never mind because of Bianca. If she was a bigger person, she’d admit to feeling guilty. Courtney is actually a good person. It felt like kicking a puppy watching her get so fiery, but it also proved to Bianca she could never drag Courtney down with her in the phenomenal disaster that was a Haylock relationship. If Adore was in the middle, maybe things would feel light and airy, and Bianca could smugly pretend nothing happened.

She slips into her short off shoulder black dress and brushes it down, admiring her reflection in the mirror. Adore and Katya had scampered away at some point unbeknownst to Bianca, but she’s grateful for a moment of silence. San Diego was supposed to be fun - it was always jovial when so many queens were working together, but Bianca can’t focus on anything positive long enough before flashes of the unmentionable force her chest to tighten. She feels claustrophobic in her own body, under the control of her damn feelings.

As she’s touching up the last of her drag, the dressing room door slams shut and she jumps up to see Courtney, arms crossed and face furious. She looks too beautiful to be so angry. Her blonde hair falling around the razor sharp edges of her face, her body delicate and curved, holding so much rage seems impossible in such a tiny figure. Bianca stares at her cluelessly, before all she can sum up was an awkward laugh.

“I guess we’re not going to forgive and forget?” She jokes, scratching the back of her neck. Courtney doesn’t speak, just glares harder it feels like someone is punching Bianca in the gut. “Damn, angry don’t suit that pretty face of yours.”

“You done?” Courtney interjects, the pixie tone gone sour, her accent stabbing. Bianca’s eyes widen, but she can’t muster up a usual anger for self defence. She’s powerless to Courtney’s fury. “You’re a fucking cunt.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

“No, it’s not. In fact,” Courtney lets her arms fall as she slowly walks closer, squaring up to Bianca, their faces barely inches apart that the tension could smother them to death. “It’s perfectly fitting for you. You, who calls everyone a cunt, who pushes everyone away. You, who wants to be such a control freak you’re willing to hurt me.” Courtney snickers, cocking her jaw as she riled herself up. “I confronted you about being in love with me because I care about you-”

"I’m not in love with you-”

“Then  _what_ , Roy!” Courtney screams. The silence is suddenly unbearably loud. Bianca has to take a step back to remember this is her friend. Courtney groans, scrunching up her fists and balling them at her temples before composing herself. “Fine, you don’t love me, keep telling yourself that, but I know you.”

Bianca finally comes back to consciousness, scrunching up her face. “What? Oh we’re back on this! A lot of people know me well, for fucks sake. Jamie knows me like the back of his hand, Adore knows me she could probably tell you what I’d say before I said it- a lot of people ‘ _know me’_. So fucking what!” Bianca shakes her head, smirking, wicked and sinister in hopes it’ll stab Courtney in the heart. “What do you know about me that’s got your cage so rattled?”

Courtney raises a brow. “Really?” she asks, calm but in disbelief. “Shall I make a cute little  _list_  for you, is that what you want? Fine. You like shit to be precise, you have to plan your day down to the T, you worry your dad’s not proud of you even though he’s told you a billion times he  _is_ , you cry when you first see your dogs after being away for so long- just to name a few, but I’ll go on!” Courtney scoffs, holding her fingers out to count. “You didn’t tuck in drag until a New Orleans queen said you had a big dick, you’re a bit scared of heights hence why you drink vodka on your flights, you have an unhealthy obsession with reality television, and the first guy you fell in love with hurt you.” Courtney catches Bianca’s eyes, and for a split second, she falls soft:  _compassionate_. “And I know how. And I’m sorry.”

Bianca stands staring, completely shell shocked and it feels like all the colour from her face had drained from her body and was pooling around the base of her stilettos. All she could do was keep eye contact, listening to the drumming of her heart, so strong it could probably break from her rib cage. Courtney stood tall, not breaking to comfort her, and that hurt more, impossibly so Bianca felt tears behind her eyes. She could feel the red around her contacts, pinching her nails in her palms to will the waterfall away. A frown- she frowned like she always did when times got tough.

“A lot of people know that stuff.”

“No they don’t.”

Courtney was right, and Bianca knew Courtney knew it. She bites her bottom lip, thanking her lucky stars when she feels the tears retreat. “So what? Do you want a gold medal?”

“All I wanted was for you to be honest. Like I thought we always were.” Courtney sighs. “Why do you have to make it so hard? I mean…do  _you_  know  _me_  at all?”

Bianca’s brows lift, but the rest of her body dropped smooth like velvet. She might get whiplash from her emotions if this continues any longer. “Yes,” she says, barely louder than a whisper before she coughs. “Yes, I do. I know you like I know myself. I  _wish_  I didn’t know you so well!” Bianca holds out her hands, but not for anything in particular to fill them, just for distance between them to close a little. “God– look, I’m never going to be able to be honest with you, definitely not when I’m sober! But I did that last night. I tried, and I told you I’d hurt you, and I don’t want that, because you don’t deserve it. Court, you’re one of the most amazing people I know, that’s why I can’t tell you everything.” Bianca drops her arms, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Because if you know everything, it’ll change us. If you know completely how I feel, I’ll have to break you.”

Courtney doesn’t move, by choice and by force. She was exhausted going through the loops, and despite how tolerant she was, Bianca’s self pity, protect-herself bullshit wasn’t going to go down well with her.

“You know what?” she starts, breathing loudly. “It’s already changed us. You thinking I’m a child, like I need protecting. Look at me right now. I’m here, telling you off and you have your tail between your legs, so fuck off.” Bianca pushes out her lips, rolling her eyes, but Courtney ignores her. “You better say something smart in the next five seconds or I’m walking out and we’re done.”

“We’re done?” Bianca snickers. “What does that mean?”

“Five,” Courtney says, stern. Bianca frowns.

“What do you mean we’re done?”

“Four,”

“Now who’s being condescending?”

“ _Three,_ ”

“Courtney, what do you want me to-”

“ _Two!_ ”

“OKAY!” Bianca panics, and then it comes out like projectile vomit. “I’m in love with you and I hate myself for it because I haven’t been in love for years, and I don’t know how to do it!” She groans, her throat feels like shards of glass are cutting up her flesh. “I don’t  _want_  to be in love with you! That feeling is so much fucking stronger than the actual being in love shit! Because you can get anyone you want, and in fact,  _you do_! And you may be the most amazing, generous person I’ve ever met, but I’m not going through that again, I’m not being with someone who can click their fingers and get sex like that! From anyone else, but especially from me.” She breathes, remembering how, and realises she’d had her eyes squeezed shut. When she opens them, Courtney’s are wide and tired. Bianca feels like she’s a thousand feet above the ground, but unlike yesterday, the fear of crashing is nothing compared to the pain of the damn distance she keeps between them compulsively. “So there.  _There’s_  the fucking truth you wanted. I will not be with you, no matter what you say, no matter what  _you_  want! Because I’m selfish and I’m not going to be the hopeless romantic again to someone who doesn’t love me as much as I love them- just like what you said in the car.” Bianca looks her up and down, and scoffs. “Sometimes people are complicated. You can’t always conjure up a happy ending and make it happen.”

Courtney’s quiet as she processes. She looks down at the ground, defeated. Her limbs are aching, her head is pounding, everything that used to be so light and bubbly is overcome by the fatigue of an endless fight. She wanted Bianca, because she honestly believed they could work, but now that hope was shattering, and the cracks were out growing themselves to uncontrollable lengths.

This was it. This was the final done. Now there really wasn’t anything left to say.

So Courtney stops talking.

She takes a deep breath, feeling her lungs expand, cooling a burn, and then she smiles. Bianca is still staring with panicky eyes, and that’s it. This is the Bianca she didn’t know, and this is the Bianca that her past had moulded to protect her.

She walks toward the older girl slowly. She stops in front of her, and takes both Bianca’s hands in hers. Bianca lets her, but she watches skeptically. Courtney looks down, running her thumb over the other’s soft skin, and then lifts her gaze to meet hers again. Soft blue contacts, faint, shameful wrinkles by her eyes. Bianca is tired too.

Courtney leans in and kisses Bianca tenderly. Soft like a hummingbird’s wings, her heart as erect as them too. Bianca doesn’t fight, because she wants it so badly. They kiss like the world may stop spinning or the moon may collide, or they’re on the brink of death any second and the only way to get to heaven is to unload all the burdens of their hearts. Courtney kisses Bianca because she desperately wants to, and because Bianca needs someone to love her more than she loves them, for once.

When she pulls away, they just stare at one another with soft eyes, resisting smiling. Then Courtney says, “Well…we’ll always have last night. We’ll always have the night drive.” And she lets go of Bianca’s hands, finally smiling.

That’s when Bianca feels herself falling; plummeting, about come to terms with the reality of her self destruction.

“Yeah. Can we pretend this didn’t happen? Any of it?”

“Do you want that?”

Bianca’s head is screaming not to lie. She’s internally in hysterics, begging and pleading to let herself be weak and happy for once, because kissing Courtney was the adrenaline rush she’s in desperate need of, but Bianca is used to that bitch’s little voice trying to scream past the barricade. Last night was the only time, now she was done talking,  _forever_.

“Yes. We’re just friends.”

Courtney nods, giving Bianca a final knowing,  _disappointed_  look before leaving to get ready for the show.

And from that point on, the ordeal was nothing but a distant memory. They remained purely as friends - damaged and wishful, but friends nevertheless...

 

 

That is, until two years later. At a club in L.A. with Willam and a few others for his birthday, Danny walks into the disabled bathroom drunkenly to find his friends making out. They ended up spending the night together after that, and the next night and the next and the next-- Shane never lets Roy live down the two years they wasted, and if Roy wasn't so madly in love then maybe he'd be angry. Soft touches, synced laughter, and a life time of time to make up for the bullshit of whiplash.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Also shout out to the wonderful Veronicasanders for being my first beta! Supportive through and through, especially when it comes down to the heated discussion that America doesn’t have burger vans and I have to remember middle aged Drag Queens don’t eat the same food this British 20 something graduate does. Thank you, V! My favourite bitney bitch.)


End file.
